Reunionklok
by Lemon Icee
Summary: Metalocalypse - Dethklok is accompanying Ofdensen to his 10 year Yale reunion so he can impress his stuck-up peers. The Tribunal infiltrates the reunion in order to destroy Ofdensen once and for all. Side-plot: Toki wants to become a US citizen.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Ok I don't own these people. I don't own any people. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 1**

Charles Foster Ofdensen had worked hard to get to where he was

Charles Foster Ofdensen had worked hard to get to where he was. Becoming the chief financial officer of the most influential band in history was no easy feat. Maintaining that prestigious title – alive – was even more impressive. It required all the skill, the cunning and quick wit, as well as the physical prowess, Ofdensen possessed. Yes, he had always been proud of the future he had forged for himself, but now a small blue envelope he clutched in his hand stirred doubt in the back of his mind. Reading the gold embossed lettering on the front, he let out an audible sigh.

"Welcome back, class of 1998!" read the paper with all the pseudo-enthusiasm that came with school spirit. Feeling a little aged, Ofdensen quickly pulled out his Blackberry and noted the day of his 10-year college reunion. Privately, he considered the necessity of bringing a date.

* * *

In their continually dank arena, the Tribunal met once again to discuss their melodic foe. A dozen glassy-eyed conspirators stared at Senator Stampingston, who felt their contempt boring into him like many drills. He was consistently the bearer of bad news. With a distinct feeling that none of these men would have any objections to shooting the messenger, and with waning confidence, he addressed the gathering.

"Gentlemen, it appears Dethklok's manager will be attending his 10-year college reunion at Yale University." Behind him, the massive screen projected an image of a stern looking man in wire-frame glasses. "This is a golden opportunity to ascertain some crucial background information on this man. Our resident managerial expert, Dr. Rupert Windermere."

The pale, shriveled face of Dr. Windermere let out a surprisingly high-pitched voice, that echoed effortlessly throughout the arena.

"Gentlemen this man is an enigma, a phantom. We have no records of his life before Dethklok, no personal information, no evidence that he even exists. If the bastard has fingerprints, we've yet to find proof of that. This event at Yale University could be the perfect opportunity to discover more about this, this seemingly untouchable man. It could also provide a means with which to destroy him once and for all."

General Crozier leaned forward in his chair. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

Though it was never consciously planned, the members of Dethklok had a way of all showing up to the dining table at about the same time. Each of them would feign a slight disgust at the presence of one another, while inwardly feeling glad that they would have company for their meal. Ofdensen knew of this strange habit, and took mealtimes as opportunities to discuss important business matters with the band. This ritual, though well established by now, was a cause of unending complaint from Dethklok, who would often yell at the manager and sometimes throw food at him too, for good measure. So it was that at 9 o'clock in the evening, Toki pulled himself away from his toy models, Skwisgaar from his guitar practice, Nathan from the immense television and Murderface from whatever it is bass players do for fun, each seeking sustenance and joining an already seated (and very tipsy) Pickles at the dinner table.

As usual, Jean-Pierre took orders and set about busily whipping up whatever outrageous food the band desired. And as usual, Ofdensen showed up at the head of the table just as the meal was being served.

"Fuck, Ofdensen, do you have to do this every time?" asked Nathan angrily. "I'm just trying to eat my fucking bouillabaisse and you gotta come in and…stand there…."

"Ya, lets us haves our meals in peace!" Yelled Skwisgaar.

Ofdensen was used to this reaction. Calmly, he began, "Well, I –"

"Hey, hey business guy." Pickles was very drunk, and his words slurred together almost incoherently. "I got a business-type question fer ya."

"Yes?" Ofdensen replied patiently.

"How come, how come we gotta pay taxes?" Pickles slammed his fist down belatedly on the table. "I am so sick an' tired of wasting my money on like, schools and roads and shit. I don't even need that stuff, those fucking douche bags up on Capitol Hill, you know, with their…pork barrel spending and…NAFTA…"

A moment of silence followed Pickles' rant as everyone tried to decipher what the drummer had said.

"Well," Ofdensen cut the silence short in his usual clippy manner. "I see you've fallen asleep watching CNN again. I can tell you this though, the current administration has given you tremendous tax breaks, you of course being in the top 1 of wealth in the nation. I would not be complaining-"

"But, we still do pay taxes?" Asked Nathan.

"Well, yes."

"Da's dildos." Skwisgaar huffed. He didn't really have any desire to buy anything for himself, but he didn't want to pay the stupid Americans.

"Scho, how can we, you know, NOT pay taxsches?" Murderface stabbed his spaghetti dinner ineffectively, staring up at Ofdensen.

"Well, if you wanted to utilize a fraudulent method, you could, set up an off-shore bank account, falsify your receipts, create a fake charity…there are a number of ways to evade taxes illegally." The faces at the table lit up, only to be disappointed by Ofdensen's next comment. "However we're not going to do any of them. If you want to see your tax rates go down, you're going to have to vote for a president who is willing to give that to you."

"Okays, I's goings to do thats then," Announced Toki decidedly.

"Well Toki I'm afraid you can't."

Toki sneered at Ofdensen, a look that just barely managed to look threatening, but was still overwhelmingly adorable.

"Well you see," Ofdensen answered Toki's unasked question, "You are not a citizen of the United States, and thusly cannot participate in our electoral process. Now, I was really hoping we could discuss-"

"Dat stupids! I wants to votes for no tax for Toki!" Toki yelled. "Makes me city-suns mk Charlie? I wants to be ones nows, so makes it happens, mk."

Ofdensen closed his eyes for a brief moment before beginning. "Well Toki I'm afraid it's not that simple. If you want to become a citizen of the United States you have to take a citizenship test, proving your knowledge of US history, governmental affairs, as well as your patriotism. It…can prove to be quite difficult."

Skwisgaar harrumphed from the far end of the table. "Pah, what woulds you wants to be city-suns of dis dildos countries anyway Toki. Haves some shames please."

"Well, now that…taxes have been discussed, I have something very important I need to talk to you boys about." Ofdensen took a deep breath, "I need to ask a favor of you. My…Yale reunion is coming up and it's very important that I appear successful. I'd like you boys to come with me so that my peers can see what it is I do now."

"Yale? Jeezus you really are a suit aren't ya?" Pickles laughed, clapping Ofdensen on the back. "You need to prove to all the spoiled little legacy douches that yer a success story eh?"

"Well, frankly yes, that's what I was aiming for-"

"I'm in!" Pickles spilled drink on Ofdensen's shoes. "I love to scare the shit outta those stuck-up country club douche bags." He hiccupped and threw up a little onto the floor. Wiping his mouth he muttered, "Think they're so much better than us."

Nathan agreed, "Yeah ok we'll go to your gay little party, we'll make it the most brutal Yale reunion party ever."

"No doubt you will." Ofdensen adjusted his glasses. This was the part he had been dreading. "I…need to ask one more favor of you."

"Gods whats is it littles Mr. me me mes" said Skwisgaar in an exasperated tone.

Ofdensen grimaced. "I need you to help me find a date for the party."


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Hm well thanks so very much to Starlit and lovleyarisu for your kind reviews! I hope I don't disappoint with this next chapter! I've never really written stories before, so constructive criticism is always welcome. _

_Also, I don't own anyone in this story. _

_Oh and by the way, the reference to "Skull and Bones" is referring to a secret society at Yale, you can Wiki it to find out more. _

**CHAPTER 2**

The next morning found the majority of Dethklok relaxing in their living room Jacuzzi with a few alcoholic beverages in hand. Only Toki was missing from the soak, as some of the Klokateers had taken him out shopping long before the rest of the band had woken up.

"You know, Ofdenschen's a weird guy, I mean have you ever seen him even LOOK at a hot girl?" mused Murderface.

"Uh…no, no I don't think I have." Nathan decided, after extended thought. "But you know I guess we should kind of help him out I mean, he's probably like a virgin, he's probably pretty scared of women and stuff." His voice trailed off as his thought lost steam.

"Yeah but he's scho boring! I can't think of a schingle girl who would like him," said Murderface bluntly.

"Yeah, Murderface, that's cause you don't know a single girl." Replied Pickles. He looked over at Skwisgaar, who hadn't really been paying attention to the conversation. "Hey Skwisgaar, you've slept wit a lotta women right?"

The topic of conversation now more interesting to him, Skwisgaar replied coolly, "Ya, Is definitely beens with my fares shares."

"Ok, well can we take a look at yer little black book?"

"My whats?"

"Yer…you know, wherever you keep like the names and phone numbers of the girls you've slept with…"

Skwisgaar looked at Pickles with a confused expression. "Why…woulds I wants this?" He asked.

"Er, you know, in case you wanted to like, call them back?" Pickles' suggestion was met with confused silence from the Swede. "Nevermind," muttered Pickles, defeated. "I don't think Ofdensen goes for the golden oldies anyway."

"Why don't we juscht pay schome skank to pretend to be his girlfriend?" Asked Murderface in a tone that suggested he'd come up with a brilliant idea.

Pickles shook his head, "Dude, do you know what Yale means? It means snooty, stuck-up rich douche bags who were born with like a silver ladle in their mouths."

"Pickles is right," said Nathan. "We can't just pick up a skank, we need some classy lady - like, we may have to go to a fancier bar for this."

As the four each silently regretted agreeing to help Ofdensen in a task that was quickly seeming to be impossible, Toki entered the room.

"Oh whats da hells, Toki." Skwisgaar's tone was pure disgust at the spectacle of his little rhythm guitarist.

Toki was decked out, head to toe, in stars and stripes. He wore an outfit that probably came from an Uncle Sam costume, hat and all, and he carried two tiny American flags in each of his hands. Pinned to his chest was an obscenely large button that flashed "These colors don't run!" in red, white and blue LCD lights. Toki wore an equally obscenely large grin on his face.

"I loves America!" He shouted gleefully. His band mates all looked back at him with repulsion.

Nathan broke the disgusted silence angrily. "What the fuck are you doing Toki."

"Takes that off befores I throws up!" Skwisgaar did look physically ill.

"No, I loves America." Replied Toki calmly. "Is going to be city-suns for sures!"

Before the rest of the band could get out of the tub and rip the patriotism right off Toki, Ofdensen entered the living room. A quick scan of the room told the experienced manager everything he needed to know about the situation, and thusly he did not need to ask Toki why he looked like something the Statue of Liberty threw up.

"Toki, if you'd like me to set up an appointment for you to take your citizenship test, I can do so, but again I'd like to reinforce the point that it is not an easy –"

"Yeah I can takes the test now, I knows ALL abouts America." Toki beamed.

"…Alright then." Ofdensen secretly wished that someday he'd be allowed to complete a sentence. "Well I've been going through the books, and-"

"Dude, Ofdensen, we're taking you out tonight ok man? We're gonna find you some nice gal who you can take to yer party." Interrupted Pickles proudly.

"Yeah, and we'll treat, if you know, she wants to get paid to spend the night with you." Said Nathan.

"Which sche probably will, becausche you know your REALLY boring." Said Murderface, shaking his head slowly.

There was a pause. Ofdensen wasn't sure if 'going out' with Dethklok would attract the sort of women he could bring to a formal dinner engagement.

"Well, I-"

"REALLY boring." Murderface looked at Ofdensen pityingly.

Another pause.

"Well, I appriciate the offer, but-"

"Ah ah ah, no buts!" Yelled Pickles quickly. "We're takin you out to a real swank joint, and we'll even take the dethlimo cause I know you don't like motorcycles."

Ofdensen resigned himself to the evening out at last. Anything was better than showing up in front of all his Skull and Bones buddies dateless.

The limo ride was very quiet. The club Dethklok had chosen to take Ofdensen to was very hip, and black tie only, so the band was dressed uncharacteristically well. It had taken much coaxing to get Toki out of his patriotic outfit, and promises of beautiful goils to come, although Skwisgaar refused to speak to the young guitarist until he, "remembers where he is froms."

But the limo ride was very quiet. Until Murderface decided to break the tense silence.

"Scho, Ofdensen, are you a virgin?"

"Dude!" Pickles hit Murderface hard, giving him a 'that's not a nice question' look.

"What! I haven't been able to schtop thinking about it since Nathan brought it up!" Murderface rubbed the area on his shoulder that Pickles had assaulted.

The rest of the band watched Ofdensen intently, with silly grins on their faces, as if they were waiting for an embarrassing confession.

Ofdensen was not amused. "No, in fact I am not."

"Cause we have NEVER scheen you with a lady, never."

"Well, I try to keep my personal life very separate from my professional one." Replied Ofdensen, annoyed. True, lately all of Dethklok's shenanigans had prevented him from having much of a love life, but did he really seem like he would be a virgin? No, he was just very good at what he did. He was very good at keeping his private life just that: private.

* * *

As the limo reached the club, Ofdensen began to wonder what he'd gotten himself into. The boys would never let him come home alone. He would have to find a date here, or face the harsh judgments of Yale bigwigs. He took a deep breath as he exited the limo. He would have to loosen up. If he could remember how.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Thanks again to the kindly people who reviewed my last chapter! I'm afraid this one might be a little too wordy, if it is please tell me and I'll avoid it next time. I kind of just needed to get the plot movin'. I have to admit I have a hard time with dialog. I should practice that._

_I hope you enjoy! This chapter has flashbacks, as indicated by italics. _

**Chapter 3**

_As the looming vision of a sprawling Yale campus dawned on the horizon, Charles felt the creeping sensation of dread. He was a fish out of water amongst the nations finest, but more importantly its richest students. Charles was no legacy. He had been raised in a middle class neighborhood, and while his childhood was certainly not deprived, there were quite a few luxuries that he had never known. Such as yearly vacations, an Atari or a car when he turned 16. Going to Yale had seemed a financial impossibility, although his grades and SAT scores more than qualified him for acceptance. Before he had made up his mind to attend the state school however, an anonymous donor paid his tuition in full, for all four years at the prestigious school. All the donor had sent to Charles directly was a small note typed on one of those new computers._

_"Remember what this feels like"_

_Now here he was, dragging his luggage off the greyhound bus, arriving at last to the school he'd dreamt of attending since he was first able to associate its name with power. He would prove to all these kids, half of which didn't deserve the academic honor, that he was a force to be reckoned with._

* * *

Exiting the dethlimo, Ofdensen eyed _Speed_, the club he would be spending the night in with suspicion. Despite its reputation as the most exclusive venue in the city, it looked dirty. Ofdensen expected that it would be littered with used needles and drugged out crack whores.

"This is the place, c'mon!" yelled Pickles with enthusiasm. The band walked over to the bouncer, forcing their way to the front of the considerably long line. People were screaming over the appearance of Dethklok, and the host let each member in with a gleeful giggle. He stopped Ofdensen however, looked him over and said, "Sorry, you're not exactly Speed material. Lose the glasses and we'll talk mk honey?"

"He's with us," growled Nathan, putting a rough hand on Ofdensen's shoulder and dragging him inside.

"Oh, oh of course Mr. Explosion, go right ahead!" the host spewed sycophantically.

The inside of the club was a cliché. Post-modern architecture and ultra-chic furniture matched the pulsing techno beats perfectly. Giant TV screens adorned the walls, each featuring different interpretive art pieces, including one, Ofdensen noticed, which featured a man building a huge Lincoln Logs structure in slow motion. There was no straight white light; each bulb was tinted purple, red or blue.

"Gods, I hates techno music. Its only fors the Germans," spat Skwisgaar with a curled upper lip, covering his ears.

"Yeah, I hates technos too," agreed Toki.

"You only hates it because I hates it, why don't you hates something for yourselfs!"

"I hates you Skwisgaar."

While the two Scandinavians argued, Pickles had already seated himself at the bar, bringing Ofdensen along with him. Murderface had gone to hit on some girls who were probably too wasted to realize who he was, and Nathan had gone upstairs.

"Ok, so the most important thing you gotta remember when picking up a chick is _act aloof_. If they know you want em, they won't want you." Pickles ordered two drinks, Ofdensen presumed neither one was for him.

"There, there there there, see that gal by the oxygen bar?" Pickles pointed emphatically at a young Asian woman seated on the couches that looked like lips. "She's totally yer type, go get her!"

Ofdensen wasn't even sure himself what his type was, and wasn't convinced she was it, so he left Pickles to his several martinis and wandered off towards the lounge.

He sat stiffly on an uncomfortable couch for a few minutes, before being approached by a very pretty woman in a little black dress. She wore glasses with red frames and her dark brown hair was in an elegant up do. She sat down next to Ofdensen and let out a graceful sigh.

"This isn't really your scene, is it?" Her voice was more natural than he had been expecting, but he responded curtly.

"Frankly no, I'm just here with a few of my…clients." He adjusted his glasses. It was a bothersome tick.

Pickles eyed Ofdensen and his lovely lady friend from across the room. They were deep in conversation, and hopefully Ofdensen wasn't boring her to tears. He downed another Cosmopolitan and banged his fist on the bar table for a few more. Then, in an instant, the thundering techno beats changed to screaming power chords. Pickles swirled around on his bar stool to see that Skwisgaar had assaulted the DJ, thrown him out of his little room, and plugged his own guitar into the stereo system. He was treating the ungrateful club to some hardcore Swedish metal.

"Way to go Skwisgaar!" yelled Pickles, holding up his drink as if in a toast to the music.

The philistines in the club did not seem to appreciate the change in ambiance, and Speed emptied out quickly. Soon only Dethklok, their manager, his lady friend and a few other women hoping to get the band into bed remained. Skwisgaar finished his 47-minute guitar solo triumphantly and accompanied some women into one of the many back rooms. Nathan had not yet returned from one of these rooms. Pickles was on the floor in his underwear, passed out and unaware that a few locks of his hair had been cut off by some fans. Toki could not tear himself from the claw machine, which was not actually meant to be played, as it was a progressive art piece intended to represent the tight grip big brother has on us all.

Ofdensen had tuned out the death metal when it made its abrupt appearance, and surprisingly so did the woman he was talking to. Her name was Sonya Jetters, and Ofdensen thought she very well might be his type. Somehow he had managed to invite her to his reunion without sounding like he was using her, and she had gladly accepted. They had exchanged phone numbers, and he told her he would call before he picked her up on the day of the party. Seeming excited, she left the club, and Ofdensen began the task of cleaning up the train wreck that his band became nearly every night.

* * *

_Charles quickly learned all the ins and outs of Yale University. He rose to the top of his class, joined the exclusive secret society known as Skull and Bones, and made many important connections to many important people. And he had fun, too. It was the early Nineties, and Charles found himself enthralled by the punk revival taking place in nearly every urban center. Each day he would play the part of the no-nonsense undergrad, while at night he would attend wild house shows, taking every precaution necessary to make sure he did not get his nose broken. These precautions included breaking everyone else's nose first._

_Charles drank, he did a number of hard drugs, and yet he was still able to get a 4.0 by the end of his college career. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted a life that would mix the brutality of the punk scene he'd come to love with the business major he'd worked so hard to achieve._

_The summer after his graduation, his parents were killed in a horrible microwave accident. They were literally welded to the kitchen floor when he found them. And he knew then what he was meant to do. _

_Dethklok welcomed their new manager just as they were beginning to receive nationwide recognition. With his considerable help, they became the most influential band in history. It wasn't punk, Ofdensen often thought, but it wasn't bad._


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Aaaah I keep screwing these docs up. I forget to format them, to make an author's note, holy jeez. Anyway, thanks again to anyone who's reading these, I hope they are mildly entertaining for you!_

_I don't own anyone, except the Sonya, whose name might change spelling from Sonya to Sonia sometimes, I can't remember. _

* * *

Sonya Jetters left the club in a rush. She ran down the dark street in high heels adeptly, never stumbling. As she ran, she took down her hair and removed her glasses. She rounded a corner and dashed to the end of a grimy alleyway. Crouching behind a dumpster, she took her cell phone out from her purse and dialed a very secret friend.

"General Cazio speaking."

* * *

The next morning, Dethklok were once again relaxing in the pool. Toki was still sporting his Uncle Sam hat, and was drinking an American brewed beer proudly. The band was listening intently as Pickles whispered the details of Ofdensen's night.

"And they just kinda talked for as long as I was awake, but you know probably after I passed out they went off and got it on, you know, got down to business if you follow me."

"I juscht hope she was patient, you know, what with him being a virgin and all," said Murderface quietly, shaking his head.

"God, a virgins and he is whats, like sixty? Dat is so sads. I hasn't been a virgins since I was fourteens.

"Ugh, what if he like, starts bringing her home?" asked Nathan in disgust. "I mean, we're gonna have to like, learn her name and, and maybe she'll like want pancakes in the morning, and I don't want to make her pancakes!" His voice, which began as a hoarse whisper, ended in a thunderous shout which echoed through the room.

Ofdensen was standing in the doorway.

"Well Nathan, you don't have to worry about…making pancakes, we are simply attending the reunion together, nothing more."

"Wait, so, you didn't get laid last night?" asked Pickles, disappointed.

"No."

The boys erupted into protest.

"Well then what did you do all night?" asked Murderface indignantly.

"You don'ts wants to die a virgins!" yelled Skwisgaar.

"I'm not a virgin." Ofdensen was about to lose his cool. "Look, the reunion is in a couple of days and I wanted to go over some ground rules first. Are you listening?"

The answer apparently was no, as the band continued to talk amongst themselves about how Ofdensen really ought to have had sex last night, for his own good.

"It can'ts be healthy beings a virgins your whole life," said Skwisgaar knowingly.

Ofdensen sighed. "Well Toki, I also wanted to have a word with you."

Toki waved a little American flag in response.

"Your citizenship test is tomorrow. Are you sure you're ready? I could help you study if you'd like-"

"Whatevers, I knows all abouts America," said Toki casually.

"Alright, well do you know when the Declaration of Independence was signed?"

"The decalorization? The dethklokaration?" Toki mispronounced the word several times slowly, Skwisgaar chiming in to add his own attempts. "No no Toki, the delacoration of indepadance. Idiot."

"The…Declaration of Independence, Toki, one of the most important documents in US history. Look I really think you ought to study for this, come with me to the library and we can work on-"

Toki interrupted Ofdensen with a long, drawn out moan.

"Aaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwww" he sighed, looking up at the manager with pleading eyes.

"Fine," said Ofdensen testily, "It's not as though you need to pass anyway. I'll still be needing to talk you boys through some things before the reunion, but…as usual you're not listening so, goodbye." Ofdensen walked back up to his room and broke out some scotch.

* * *

General Cazio was thoroughly prepared for the Yale reunion party. He had many powerful friends in the class of '98, and each of them had been informed of the plan. They would gather in a separate room from the main hall, but keep up the appearance of partygoers. It was up to Sonia to get Ofdensen to that adjacent room, unsuspecting, and close the doors behind him. Then they would make their move. Yes Ofdensen had proven himself able to best men in silly one-on-one knife fights, but he would not be able to stand up to a dozen men and one surprisingly lethal woman.

Once Ofdensen was dead, Dethklok would be easy pickings at the party. The threat would be gone in an instant, and the Tribunal would be able to once again get a stranglehold on the nation. Cazio smiled darkly. The irony of the situation was clear to him. It was all thanks to Yale, the school that had so rudely rejected him when he was a young man, that he would finally be successful. So what if he'd gotten 830 on his SATs, he deserved to be at that school, he was a fucking legacy.


	5. Super extra Toki Minisode!

_Author's Note: Once again, I forgot to format this one correctly too. Ok, thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing, thanks for being good people. This is a short little Toki side story that I thought I should wrap up on its own. Those questions are actually on the citizenship test! Yikes!_

_I don't own Toki, Pickles, Skwisgaar, Nathan, Murderface or the butler. But I own the mean man. Go me c:_

* * *

The dethcycle screeched to a halt in front of the Nationalization Testing Center. For no particular reason, all of the members of Dethklok chose to ride along as Nathan dropped Toki off for his citizenship test. Toki was back in full patriotic garb, and even lit off a few fireworks in Mordhaus before he left. He looked nervous now though.

"Ok, here you go, good luck," said Nathan quickly. "Remember, um, 50 states-"

"No no, Alaschka doesn't count," said Murderface wisely.

"Uuuuh, ok 50 states, Alaska doesn't count, and…uh…"

"And it's pronounced de-cla-ray-tion," said Pickles, sounding out the word slowly and with no small amount of belittlement.

Skwisgaar didn't want to talk to Toki. As the dethcycle roared off, he yelled out something angry in Swedish, which no one could understand.

Toki clutched his little American flag fearfully and entered the testing center. It was dreary and monotonous inside. There were dozens of uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs arranged in a line, half of which were filled with foreigners and their families. They were all studying very hard. Toki got even more nervous. Maybe the butler was right, maybe he should have learned something about America.

A gruff looking man with a beer belly and a crew cut walked in with a clip board.

"Toki Wartooth!" he shouted severely.

"Presents," said Toki very quietly, raising his shaking hand.

The man looked at him dumbly for a few seconds, finally saying, "Are you being cute with me boy? Get over here and take the goddamn test!"

Toki stood up quickly and followed the proctor into a small, poorly lit room. It smelled faintly of old meat. The only furniture in the room was a child-sized desk. Toki sat down in it quickly, hoping not to incite the mean man's anger again.

When Toki was seated, the man stood in front of him and put both hands on the edge of the desk, bringing his beefy face so close to Toki's that he could see every burst capillary on the man's beet red visage.

"Look kid," Toki could feel flecks of spit hit his face as the man spoke. "I don't know what the fuck you think you're trying to pull, coming here in that getup, but if you think your gonna win me over with a few stars and stripes you better go back where you came from right now."

Toki gulped. The man placed a stack of papers on the desk and took a drag on his freshly lit cigarette.

"This here is the test. You gotta get six outta these ten questions correct to pass. Don't think it's all that easy though. These questions are hard as they'll ever get, I made sure of that 'specially for you, candy-ass. You have half an hour, but god help you if you need that long."

He put out his cigarette on the edge of Toki's desk, leaving a lingering smell of tobacco in the room as he made his exit.

It was now very quiet. All Toki heard was the droning sound of the analog clock ticking right above his head. With one last deep breath, he looked down at the first question.

"Which universal right is guaranteed by the First Amendment?"

Toki decided to skip that question and go back to it.

"Which amendments to the constitution address or guarantee voting rights? Name the 13 original states. How many representatives are there in congress? What INS form is used to apply to become a naturalized citizen?"

Toki put his pencil down and took off his hat.

"I really hates America," he said quietly.


	6. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Holy jeez this is another long one. Um, mostly it's full of Ofdensen background, and his life now. Thanks again to all the very kind people who reviewed, I hope you enjoy! We're almost to the meat of the story, I promise!_

_Once again: Dethklok isn't mine._

* * *

_The Skull and Bones society wasn't part of Charles' plans. He'd known he would attend Yale, meet powerful people, become a star student and eventually land a cushy job as a CEO or something, gathering allies in the company until his peers ran it down to the ground, when he would deploy his 24 karat parachute and retire to the tropics. _That _was the plan. Skull and Bones, known only as Bones around campus, was just a convenient shortcut to all the riches he hoped to one day achieve. _

_The organization was well-known on campus and off, and in the little town of New Haven it was often the topic of whispered gossip. Everyone liked to speculate just what the Bonesmen were doing in their ornate headquarters, although no one had any evidence to support their outrageous claims. They said that Bones was in league with the CIA, the Illuminati or the Freemasons. They said that the Bonesmen kept evidence of aliens hidden in their HQ as a favor to the US government. They even suggested it was all a scam perpetuated by the upperclassmen and alumni as a means to sexually abuse unsuspecting inductees. Of course Charles didn't believe any of these rumors. He knew that if it were any of those reasons, the secret would have been leaked long ago. No, the true mystery of the Skull and Bones society had to be something that the average Joe wouldn't know enough about to even consider it. And though he wasn't all that motivated to discover what the secret was, he could not resist an invitation from one of his classmates to join the prestigious society that had turned out presidents, senators and major business leaders since the 1830s._

_It was January of his sophomore year when he entered the tomb-like Skull and Bones headquarters. There he had been hazed, and consequently inducted. The hazing was nothing like the fraternity bullshit. It was still humiliating, painful and potentially fatal, but it was cleaner. Charles had proven himself above and beyond expectations, and by the time hazing was over and the induction ceremony had been completed, he had surpassed many of his upperclassmen in rank. He successfully schmoozed his way up the Bones ladder, making very valuable connections along the way. It was all according to plan._

_Until he discovered punk._

He never made it to the uppermost ranks of the secret society, never learned the true purpose of the guild, and frankly never cared. The entire ordeal was just a means of networking. Once he stumbled upon the raw, untamed noise of punk music he never spent another night crammed into a crowded meeting hall, discussing tedious and insignificant Bones updates. He remained a member throughout college and still donated to it annually, but had long convinced himself above his fellow Bonesmen. So he found it odd that, on the morning of the reunion party, a little nagging sensation at the back of his brain told him that he had to impress them all. Certainly he wanted to appear successful and contented in front of his fellow Yale alumni, but it was particularly the Bones crowd that he needed to prove himself to.

His day began as it usually did. He removed himself from his impeccably neat bed, the sheets barely rumpled after a short night's sleep. He walked to his private bathroom in his nightwear: boxer shorts and an expensive purple robe. There he washed his face and teeth, combd his hair and took some medications to relieve the inevitable stress that would plague him through the day. He moved on to his walk-in closet, which contained upwards of 20 different suits, 50 ties and a spatter of various other clothing items for more casual events. He chose to wear his most expensive suit today, a custom made garment which took over a month to be hand sewn by the infamous Eric von Wiechlinghammer. He picked out a luxurious royal blue tie, a gift from a wealthy Saudi Arabian prince, and some two thousand dollar dress shoes. He placed his glasses on his nose and the world finally came into focus. Studying himself in his floor length mirror, he spent about five minutes straightening his suit, adjusting his tie, flecking bits of dust off his sleeve, and doing a host of other faintly obsessive nervous tics. When he at last decided he looked presentable, he walked down to the kitchen to get some provisions for the coming ordeal.

It was still very early, and the boys had not yet been roused by the klokateers. Normally they would sleep in till past noon in drunken comas, but Ofdensen had not allowed them to drink last night. They would not be drinking this night either. Pickles had thrown a nasty tantrum at the news, and he and Nathan had thrown small objects at Ofdensen throughout the day.

Ofdensen found Jean Pierre asleep at his small table in the kitchen. He was never allowed to be very far from there, in case one of the boys needed a midnight snack. Ofdensen did not wake the slumbering chef, and instead made himself some coffee. He never ate breakfast. In fact he barely ate at all, finding the consumption of food a useless waste of precious time. He was far too busy to be hungry. After downing a cup of black java, he checked to see that no one was watching, and took a small hip flask down from the cupboard. He filled it with some potent liquor and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. It would be a long night, and he would probably need a little sauce.

He then went into his office to check his emails and phone messages. He did this about twenty times a day, and was by now very adept at weeding out the unimportant ones. By the time he had finished that task, he decided it was time to wake the boys, so he went downstairs and paged the selected klokateers. Together they went to each band member's room and yanked them out of their sleep. They were met with angry groans, swears and curses, but finally managed to get each one up and dressed.

Ofdensen met the band at the table as they began their breakfast.

"Well, today is the big day." The band continued to chew their meals sloppily, barely glancing at the manager.

"I just wanted to say, I truly appreciate you agreeing to come with me, I know there are plenty of other things you'd rather be doing." Ofdensen decided to take this opportunity, while most of the boys' mouths were full of sausage and eggs, to discuss the ground rules he'd been meaning to 

bring up for days. "I'm sure you are well aware of the…standards that Yale generally sets for conduct at its gatherings, so pardon me for being superfluous, but I'd like to go over some general guidelines as to behavior this evening.

"First of all, I'd like to emphasize that there will be no drinking of alcohol tonight. There will be no swearing, no…public urination. Please try not to abuse my peers, verbally or physically-"

"Ok but we can drink right? I mean, you didn't say anything about no drinking, so-" Pickles said quickly.

"No, Pickles, actually the first thing I said was no drinking, and also yesterday I said it: no drinking."

"Well jeez thisch schucks, I don't even wanna go, why do we have to go." Grumbled Murderface, disgruntled.

"Look, we said we'd do it so lets get it the fuck over with and then we can go home and drink until we're shitfaced ok?" said Nathan.

"Thank you Nathan," said Ofdensen, his exhaustion revealing itself in his voice. "Oh, Toki, how did your citizenship test go?"

Toki pushed his hash browns around on his plate in a melancholy way. "I don'ts wants to talks about it," he muttered. "I hates America, didn't wants to be parts of stupid ass countrys anyway."

"Atta boys Toki," said Skwisgaar. "And you don't gets to be parts of ours countrys neither!" he yelled accusatorily at the American men in the room.

"Psh, what would we wanna be Swedish for, eh? Oh, I'm Swedish! I can't pronounce declaration and I eat rotten fish all day long!" said Pickles in a sing-song voice, making feminine gestures with his hands. Nathan and Murderface laughed while Skwisgaar looked highly offended.

"Shuts up dildos!" He yelled angrily. Quietly, Toki muttered "I's not Swedish."

"Yeah! I'm Schwedish too!" Yelled Murderface, still laughing. The joke was dead however, and everyone in the room judged him.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that you didn't pass Toki, I'm sure next time you'll take my advice and actually study prior to the test. I'll…see you boys tonight."

Ofdensen left the room before Pickles could try out his mock Swedish accent and incite further rage from the Scandinavians.


	7. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: I finished this baby up tonight, but I had to divide it into chapters, so this is not QUITE the meat, but the meat is in the next chapter, I swear. _

_Thanks again to everyone who watched the story and/or reviewed, that was very kind of you! _

_I don't own these characters, and that's just fine with me!_

* * *

General Crozier was proud of the work he had done. The Yale reunion party had been quite tame before he stepped in. Now it was crawling with his own men, undercover and very convincing as many of them had actually graduated Yale in 1998. Many of the Tribunal's trusted men were Yale graduates, including some of the Tribunal members themselves. They always looked to Yale for recruitment, and even sent some promising young prospects there preemptively. Yes Yale had close ties with the Tribunal, and General Crozier was sure there would be no failure this time. This time he would see the manager torn apart, and Dethklok destroyed once and for all.

* * *

Ofdensen sat uncomfortably in the dethlimo. He didn't want to make any movements and risk wrinkling his suit. Seated across from him, Dethklok looked equally stiff in their freshly bleached and ironed suits. No one talked and the silence was filled with airy jazz music coming from the speakers. Ofdensen tried not to notice that his band was staring daggers at him. He tugged at his sleeve, straightening out the creases, and looked out the window. They were on their way to pick up his date.

The dethlimo came to a stop in a quiet urban neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. Ofdensen cleared his throat and stood up, as much as it was possible to stand in the vehicle.

"I'll be right back." He said, still met with only icy glares from the boys.

Ofdensen walked up the stoop to the front door of one of the row houses. He rang the bell and waited awkwardly. A minute passed, and he wondered if he had been stood up, but the door opened and out walked Sonya, looking very pretty in an elegant, and entirely appropriate grey gown.

Ofdensen was by no means interested in this woman, but he had to admit she was very beautiful.

"You look…very nice." He said in his usual impassive voice.

"Thank you Charles," beamed Sonya, and she followed him back into the limo.

Arriving at the grand Yale ballroom in the extravagant limo was a bit too showy for Ofdensen's taste, but the pettier side of him was proud of the pointing and staring that accompanied his arrival. Exiting the vehicle, his lovely date in arm, he made his way towards the entrance of the building, feeling a little like he was parading down an invisible red carpet. The air was heavy with whispering as Dethklok emerged after Ofdensen.

Nathan scowled. "I feel like a homo," he said, yanking at his suffocating bow tie.

"Oh my god it's Nathan Explosion!" Five well-dress women ran over to the band, abandoning their shocked husbands to accompany Dethklok.

"Nathan is MINE!" one of them screamed, tugging at Nathan's sleeve.

"I want Skwisgaar, he's SO handsome!" yelled another, wrapping her arms around the tall blonde.

"You can have Murderface, Jenny." Said the girl who had linked arms with Pickles, sticking her tongue out at the remaining woman.

"Ew! No way!" Jenny yelled.

"Ladies, ladies, there is enoughs Skwisgaar to goes around." The Swede reassured them, linking arms with Jenny as well. All but Murderface entered the building with at least one woman hanging on, and the bassist followed alone, muttering about women's evil ways.

* * *

Ofdensen was impressed at the elaborate accommodations at the party. There was a fully stocked buffet table, an open bar, live music (jazz again), and scores of very important people, his former classmates. Keeping just close enough to Sonya that no one would believe him dateless, Ofdensen made his way through the crowd, searching for any familiar faces.

There they were. The old Bones gang, talking in a tight-nit circle, appearing highly exclusive. Ofdensen raised his chin, walked a little straighter and pulled Sonya a little closer. He walked up to the group, which immediately stopped talking at his arrival.

"Charles Foster Ofdensen, you son of a bitch, how are you? What have you been up to?" boomed Kenny Michaels, the loud Texan.

"I'm very well thanks," said Ofdensen with just a hint of smugness to his voice. "I am now the CFO and general manager of the famous metal band, Dethklok."

"Well shoot!" Michaels said enthusiastically, slapping Ofdensen on the back so hard it nearly dislodged his glasses, "Ain't you been busy! And here I thought I'd done alright with myself, owning half a dozen oil companies, but Dethklok!? My son absolutely loves 'em, could you get them to perform at his birthday?"

"Well I suppose with the right compensation we could-" Ofdensen was cut off by Michaels.

"And who is the pretty lady with you? Did 'ole Charlie finally get hitched?" Michaels spit when he spoke and his breath smelled distinctly like brandy.

"No, this is my date Sonya Jetters. She runs a-"  
"Well she is gorgeous Charlie! How'd a feller like you land a 10?" Michaels slapped Ofdensen on the back again, laughing raucously.

Ofdensen was getting increasingly uncomfortable with his old classmates, and remembered again why he stopped attending Bones meetings. These people were obnoxious, pandering idiots. With 

the excuse that he and Sonya needed to get some punch, they escaped the crowd and wandered toward the refreshments.

* * *

The band was having a great time. Skwisgaar and Toki were entertaining their lady friends at one of the many beautiful tables. At the women's gleeful request, Skwisgaar played riff after riff on his unplugged guitar, each one faster than the last. Toki and his lady were just talking, albeit animatedly, and it was obvious from Skwisgaar's occasional scornful glances in their direction that the Swede believed he could be showing the woman a much better time.

Nathan and Murderface delighted in the buffet, bringing to the table mountainous platefuls of food. Nathan had his woman feed him dozens of sausages, while Murderface ate alone, sulking.

Pickles stood a few yards from the open bar, his body shaking.  
"Why can't we drink, there's an open bar! Why would it say open bar when we're not allowed to drink!" he yelled to know one in particular. As if moved by some invisible hand, Pickles shuffled towards the alcoholic oasis. "Just one, one, he'll never know. You can't get drunk off these fruity drinks anyway!" A few minutes later he was facedown on the pool table, stripped to only his underwear and singing 80s hits with a vodka tonic in his hand.

"I tells you, this is way betters than I thoughts it would be," said Skwisgaar as he played another riff for the ladies. "I thoughts, you knows, college," he said the word with hard disgust, "everyone woulds be like readings or something, but I'ms not bored."

"Yeah, it's…actually kinda fun, and…I don't even know what this is," he muttered, holding up a block comprised of various meats fused together in a sort of mosaic. He took a massive bite out of it, "but it's good, yeah this is not the shitfest I thought it would be."

"Ands Jessica is so nice!" said Toki enthusiastically of his new friend. "Dids you knows, she like candys too! I likes candys! I loves this party!"


	8. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: The meat. I hope you enjoy! _

_Is it really necessary for me to tell you that I'm not Brendon Small?_

* * *

Ofdensen was not having such a good time. Each college friend he talked to was more insufferably boring than the last. And they all insisted on calling him Charlie, a nickname he had never been fond of. Perhaps he had been working with Dethklok too long, but he was almost disappointed that no one he talked to said anything ridiculous.

Perhaps Sonya sensed his depression, he certainly showed no outward signs of it, but she led him out of the crowded hall and into a much less populated room adjacent to it. There were a few people there, none that he knew, and it was nice and quiet especially once she closed the door.

"Tired of schmoozing?" She asked with a pitying smile. She guided him to a chair near the back of the room, where he sat gratefully. "Cigarette?"

"Please." He took a slender stick from Sonya. It had been years since he'd last smoked. He wondered if the appeal was still there. From the first drag he knew that yes, it was. Looking up at Sonya he felt a surge of affection towards her. She had led him from the perils of dry conversation and made him absolutely comfortable. He even allowed himself to slouch a bit, taking in the familiar and welcome scent of sweet tobacco.

Smiling kindly, Sonya bent over and removed his glasses. He felt a twitch to stop her hands, but suppressed it. The world became a bit blurrier, but he could still make out the shape of his companion. She was bent over, but he couldn't tell why. When she stood straight again, he saw her leg stomp quickly on the ground, and heard a sickening crunch of glass beneath her shoe.

It was then that the warm, comfortable haze he had allowed himself to slip into came to an abrupt end. Blinking rapidly and staring at the floor, he could see what he assumed were the broken shards of his glasses glinting in the light. He looked up at Sonya with a slight frown.

"What the hell-" he began, but was cut off by a very painful blow to the side of his head which knocked him off his chair and onto his hands and knees. He was grabbed roughly by arms that were distinctly not feminine and his hands were tied behind his back. In a split second he leaped back onto his feet and kicked whoever was behind him forcefully. The knot had not yet been properly tied and he was able to free his hands easily. People had tried to kill him before, this was nothing new. But things were different now that he was nearly blind. He could not make out distinct shapes, or even discern how far objects were away from him, so he just lashed out blindly at the fuzzy shapes around him. His punches met nothing solid, so he regained composure, panting from the adrenaline that was guiding his movements.

He was still for too long. At least five bodies slammed on top of him, and although he struggled viciously they managed to bind his hands and feet. Powerful hands forced him down onto his knees and remained pressing down on his shoulders so he could not rise. But they were not necessary. Ofdensen found that he could not move anyway, as if some invisible rope were wrapped around him. And suddenly, he could see. Though no glasses had been replaced on his nose, he saw the world quite clearly again.

In front of him stood a squat man in a military outfit. He had a crew cut and was looking very smugly at the powerless manager. At least a dozen men wielding an assortment of weapons stood silently behind him. Three more were behind Ofdensen, ensuring that he could not escape.

"Do you know who I am?" asked the military man in a deep, gravely voice. The question was rhetorical. "My name is General Crozier. I've been making your job a living hell since the beginning." He gave Ofdensen a wicked smirk. "And you've been returning the favor, I'll tell you that.

"You and Dethklok have been a thorn in my ass for too long. Now we realize that while you're still around, we can't touch your precious metal clients. So we're making sure your not around."

The General motioned to one of the men holding Ofdensen, and the man withdrew a large sword. He held it up to Ofdensen's neck, just at the jugular, barely piecing the skin. Ofdensen winced a little.

"I hope all your documents are in order, Charles." The General grinned manically.

"Stop," a soft, hissing voice came from the darkest corner of the room. The General spun around in surprise as a tall man in a pinstripe suit emerged. He had long white hair and a well trimmed goatee. With long, powerful strides he met the General in the center of the room.

"Your work is done. Let me speak with him."

The General complied immediately, gesturing for his men to fall back. The hoard moved to the front of the room, blocking the only door out and never looking away from Ofdensen and the pinstriped man.

"You can see now, I have given you that gift." Mr. Selatcia gazed down at Ofdensen with an odd expression on his face. "Remember what this feels like."

Ofdensen suddenly understood. This was the man who had been trying to kill him and his band for years, who was responsible for all the terrible things that kept him so goddamn busy, and this was the man who had paid for his college.

The dawning understanding was written all over Ofdensen's face, and Selatcia laughed.

"Yes I have given you so much, Charles. You owe a great deal to me. You were going to be a great man; you were going to be the Tribunal's most valuable asset. We invested heavily in your success, and you betrayed us."

From the other end of the room, Crozier gaped in shock. He had no idea that Ofdensen was intended for the Tribunal. Staring up at his commander, he wondered silently what other secrets Selatcia was keeping from him.

"You still have time, Charles." Selatcia approached the manager, towering over him menacingly. "You can still fulfill your destiny, become the great warrior against metal as the prophecy foretold, defeat Dethklok and ally with us to conquer the world!"

Ofdensen merely looked at the man above him derisively. "Fuck you. I've grown to like metal."

These few words enraged Selatcia to madness. He whipped out a silver pistol and aimed it straight at Ofdensen's chest.

"I hope you don't regret those last words." He hissed, and fired.

* * *

Ofdensen felt the bullet hit him. It was a powerful force that struck him, knocking him back a little, and then he felt a warm liquid flow down his chest. Looking down at himself, he expected that he would look a bloody mess. Instead, he discovered that his most expensive suit was irreversibly stained with fine brandy. His mind racing, he suddenly remembered the flask he had put in his inside jacket pocket. He hadn't been shot, but it was a real shame about the suit.

All this had occurred in the blink of an eye. Thinking quickly, Ofdensen rolled over to the sword that lay abandoned next to him and cut himself free. He leaped up, sword in hand, and before Selatcia could fire again Ofdensen punched him hard in the face. Selatcia toppled, and Ofdensen grabbed the gun. With quick and powerful movements he slammed the butt of the gun onto Selatcia's head. As soon as he did, his vision became blurry again.

He clutched the gun as the horde of men in the front of the room ran at him. He was instantly assaulted by chains, bats, knives and various other instruments. The pain was horrendous, but he fought back with undying vigor. He shot the gun randomly, but only managed to off one goon before the bullets ran out. He then proceeded to use the sword, a weapon he was skilled with but was less useful when he couldn't see what he was striking.

The battle raged for an indefinite amount of time, but Ofdensen could not be brought down. When at last the final foe had been felled, he stood in the carnage panting. Not one of the blurry lumps on the floor moved. Ofdensen dropped the sword with a heavy thud and made his way blindly to the door. He had seriously considered killing the pinstriped man who so frequently threatened his livelihood. But the truth was that he did owe the man a lot. So now they were even, he thought solemnly.

"Next time, I will kill you." Ofdensen said seriously, and he exited the room.

* * *

The main hall was bizarrely normal. Ofdensen blinked at the sudden barrage of bright light that met him as he entered. He was vaguely surprised that the place had not erupted in panic at the sound of several gunshots and some very loud screams. It seemed as if no one had noticed, and for that Ofdensen further judged his peers. What kind of self-absorbed idiots would not even notice a massive battle occurring in the next room?

What the party goers did notice now however was Ofdensen himself. The man was bloodstained, his suit was ripped in many places, he had cuts and bruises and was distinctly out of breath. Making his way towards the hulking black figure he knew to be Nathan, he stumbled out of blindness and exhaustion. As he approached their table, the present members of Dethklok looked only vaguely curious at their manager's appearance.

"Man, what the fuck happened to you?" asked Nathan. His voice filled the whole hall, which had fallen dead silent. Every partygoer was staring at Ofdensen.

"You looks like you hads a bad times, dids your girlfriend break ups with you?" asked Skwisgaar pityingly.

"Yes, yes she unquestionably did." Ofdensen was quickly succumbing to the many injuries he had received, as the adrenaline slowly faded away. "Where's Pickles? Let's go, I think our time here is done."

The band did not question their manager, whose voice was very serious, although they did look longingly at their respective women. Nathan picked up Pickles from the pool table and threw him over his shoulder. Toki exchanged phone numbers with Jessica and promised to call her so they could talk about life. Surrounded by his bread and butter, but in all honesty his closest companions, Ofdensen made his way towards the exit, guided by Toki who made sure he didn't run into anything. Before reaching the door however, Ofdensen turned around to face the silent crowd.

"I just wanted to say that, you are all the most insufferable people I've ever had the displeasure to spend an evening with. Talking with you has been a most tedious chore and I certainly hope you will all choke on your respective luxuries, so I will not have to encounter any of you ten years from now. I encourage you to think hard about what I've said and make some serious changes in your lifestyles, you fat, pompous douche bags." Feeling very satisfied, Ofdensen limped out of the building, where he received a well-earned hi-five from Toki.

In the limo there was silence again, but it was now due to slight awe, and not utter repulsion.

"You know what, you do this a lot," said Nathan in his thinking voice. "You…go away for a while and then come back with the shit kicked out of you."  
"Yeah, what are you up to?" Asked Murderface suspiciously.

"Are yous an American Gladiators!?" Asked Toki, his face lit up with excitement.

"No, Toki, I'm sorry. I'm really just doing my job."

"Yeah but, I don't remember, like when we hired you, I don't remember telling you that you had to get the shit kicked out you every once in a while…" mused Nathan. "That's brutal."

"Yes, it is." Replied Ofdensen coolly, removing a new pair of glasses from a compartment to his left.

The silence sunk in again, but Ofdensen knew that his band's respect for him had increased dramatically, and frankly he was glad. He now no longer cared what those Yale graduate assfucks thought about him. But he did care that Nathan, Toki, Skwisgaar, Pickles and Murderface considered him brutal enough to keep around. That was high praise indeed.


	9. Epilogue

_Author's Note: The ending is always the hardest part. I hope you have enjoyed my little story! I hope to make some more soon. Have a great day!_

_I don't own these guys._

* * *

Upon their return to Mordhaus, Ofdensen immediately sought out the doctor. The two were fairly good friends, if only because they were the only sane and intelligent people in the building. Whenever Ofdensen felt completely isolated he would visit the doctor and they would discuss politics or something else that required brainpower. The doctor never really asked why Ofdensen would come to him, bloodied and beaten, a strange state for a financial officer to be in. This time was no different. The doctor stitched and bandaged the cuts and sent Ofdensen off with a very large bottle of painkillers.

Ofdensen returned to his room feeling a little more distinctly alone than usual. So it turned out the only reason a woman would be with him is to try to kill him. That thought depressed him a little and he decided to have some brandy before bed. Changing out of his ruined suit and into his much more comfortable robe, he decided that it really wasn't all that bad. He was only 32 after all; he had plenty of time to find the right woman. For now he was content just looking after a death metal band.

He sipped on his brandy and checked his messages again. Mostly junk, one asking Dethklok to perform the opening ceremonies at the upcoming Olympics and a few angry personal calls from various Yale alumni who had once considered Ofdensen a good friend. Taking his pills and wondering vaguely if it was a bad idea to be drinking alcohol with them, Ofdensen crawled into his big, empty bed.

The phone rang.

He decided to let it go to voicemail, since he was already half asleep. It did, and a familiar hissing voice filled his room.

"If you think I will be defeated so easily the next time we meet, you will be fatally mistaken." Ofdensen groaned. He really did not want to hear from this creeper right now.

"If you will not take your rightful place in the prophecy, then you must die. I will savor your last breath as I do a-"

Ofdensen got up and turned off the machine. He knew freaks were trying to kill him, but that was no reason he shouldn't get a good night's sleep.


End file.
